


Speak Low

by yubiwamonogatari



Series: The Azhâr Series [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beorn's House, Blossoming Friendship, Fluff, Gen, Humour, M/M, Pre-Azhâr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:05:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yubiwamonogatari/pseuds/yubiwamonogatari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet moment shared between Bilbo and Thorin in Beorn's home as their friendship blossoms. Set before the events in Azhâr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Low

**Author's Note:**

> This little pre-fic was commissioned once again by the lovely Mim, who actually commissioned a whopping 10k of [Azhâr](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4063402/chapters/9145204) side fic! These will be posted as appropriate chapters come out, to further compliment the story, and would otherwise not have been written. So, thank you, Mim, for making this possible!
> 
> You can read Azhâr [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4063402/chapters/9145204)  
> You can find me [on Tumblr!](http://yubiwamonogatari.tumblr.com)
> 
> The art in this fic was done by the amazing [Ruto!](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com)

 

 

 

 

 _T.A 2941_  
_May 21st_

 

 

Bilbo stifled a yawn, closing his eyes and taking another slow drag from his pipe. It was one of the few things to have survived the Misty Mountains, and Bofur had been kind enough to offer some of his own coal-smoke tobacco to replace his lost pipeweed. There was hardly a comparison, but it was better than nothing. He hummed a content noise, burying his toes into the soft, sweet hay. His hands were folded over his belly – full for the first time since Rivendell – the taste of honey and cream still lingering on his tongue.

“You look as if you're quite content, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo cracked open an eye, peering up at the figure standing opposite him.

“I suppose I am,” he replied, pipe waggling between his teeth, “Won't you join me?”

Thorin glanced over his shoulder.

The Company were sprawled out in the hay, several asleep with those long, rattling snores Bilbo had once found so infuriating. Others were sitting or reclining in small groups or pairs, Kíli combing out his brother's braids, and Ori writing down something Dwalin was saying in a low voice. Bilbo looked back up at Thorin and cocked an eyebrow.

The dwarf huffed out a soft sigh and stepped forwards, grunting as he lowered himself down onto the hay beside Bilbo. Thorin shifted, one hand over his ribs, and leaned back against the strong wooden walls of Beorn's home.

“Still giving you trouble?” Bilbo asked softly, using his pipe to gesture to the dwarf's chest, their shoulders brushing.

“Óin says it'll be some days still before I can ride comfortably,” grumbled Thorin, pulling his own stockier pipe from a pocket inside his cloak.

Bilbo watched as Thorin packed the bowl and struck a match, the dwarf’s cheeks hollowing as he sucked to bring the air and smoke through the pipe, exhaling in a grey-purple cloud.

“So I suppose we'll be leaving tomorrow, then?” said Bilbo.

Thorin huffed out a laugh, smoke billowing from his nose and lips.

“As much as I would like to leave, we will stay another day. Two at the most. Durin's day fast approaches, and we have many more miles before Erebor.”

“Hmn,” agreed Bilbo, taking another drag of his pipe and blowing out a few perfect smoke rings. “Well. Then I'd better eat plenty, and take all the rest I can. Goodness knows when I'll get my next round of hobbit meals!”

Thorin blew out a ring of his own, Bilbo quickly sending one of his to fly through the middle of it. A small smile touched the corners of Thorin's lips, and Bilbo stifled a grin.

“A wise idea,” the dwarf agreed, idly rubbing his hand against his ribs. A peal of hushed laughter came from Fíli and Kíli, Bilbo realising they'd been subtly threading hay stalks through Óin's hair and beard.

He glanced over to Thorin for a reaction, raising his eyebrows as Thorin simply rolled his eyes.

“... You're not going to say something?”

 

 

The dwarf shook his head, gesturing with his pipe towards the old healer's sleeping form.

“Óin is often the first asleep, but the first awake. He'll realise what joke my sister-sons have played on him, and will – I suspect – give them a rather rude awakening. One they very much deserve,” Thorin said evenly, keeping his voice low.

“Oh,” blinked Bilbo, “What, ah. What will he do?”

“I imagine it will involve a pail full of cold water. So if I were you, I'd find a place to sleep, far from my sister-sons,” Thorin said, looking over with a twinkle in his eyes and a small smile on his lips.

Bilbo stifled a laugh behind his hand, taking another pull of smoke from his pipe.

“I shall have to make sure I'm awake to see it, then,” he grinned, watching Fíli tie little straw bows into the wiry strands of the old dwarf's hair. “Such troublemakers...! My word, they do remind me of my Took and Brandybuck cousins. Always getting into trouble. We have the phrase, 'fool of a Took' for a good reason, you know. I can't help but wonder if you got up to the same pranks in your youth,” Bilbo said, packing a bit more tobacco into his pipe.

Thorin was quiet a moment, taking a few lungfuls before he spoke.

“They are more like Frerin, in truth, but I found myself in my fair share of trouble when I was a young lad in Erebor. Dís was the most well-behaved of us, but she had a sharp tongue, and often did far more damage than we could dream of. At twenty years of age she worked out that one of the Guild Masters had been embezzling gold meant to be paid into the, ah...” Thorin paused, clicking his tongue. “... Paid into funds, which are then paid to dwarves above a certain age, as a stable income – whether they work or not. Dís waited until a Guild Meeting before exposing his deceit, shaming him beyond words. My father was incredibly proud of her.”

Bilbo let out a low whistle, nodding his head and clasping his hands together over his stomach, crossing his legs.

“What happened to him?”

“He was put on trial, and when found guilty, ordered to pay all he'd taken from his own pocket plus twenty percent. He lost his position as a Guild Master, and had to work three years for the Mountain. Manual toil, for the most part, with half pay. Enough to live on and eat, but not enough for the extravagance he'd been used to,” replied Thorin, shifting with a grunt.

Óin snorted in his sleep. Fíli and Kíli launched themselves backwards, scrabbling away from him like startled rabbits. Thorin huffed out a low laugh, shaking his head fondly.

“They're much more like Frerin. And their father, Víli.”

“Yes, I've heard a few stories about Víli from the lads, and one or two about Frerin from Balin and Dwalin, but I do believe this is the first time I've heard you speak of them,” Bilbo said softly, blowing another lazy smoke ring.

Thorin's gaze dropped, his fingers loose around his pipe. His braids hung around his face, casting shadows over his skin.

“The pain of their loss is ever present,” Thorin answered, the honesty in his quiet voice making the hot smoke catch against the back of Bilbo's throat.

He reached out instinctively, putting his hand on Thorin's knee and squeezing.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil the mood.”

The dwarf's gaze seemed to fix on his hand for a moment. Then Thorin hummed, covering Bilbo's fingers with his own for the briefest of seconds as he lifted his sturdy pipe back to his lips and sent a stream of smoke high into the air.

They both watched the dust from the hay and the dander from Beorn's animals dance and twist between the glow of firelight, and the plumes of tobacco smoke.

“Dáin, my cousin, came to Erebor for his tenth birthday celebration. I was forty-five, Dís was thirty-one, and Frerin was only eleven – a very young dwarf indeed. We hold our birthday celebrations at the end of the month, as you know. Dwalin was to be declared an adult, being sixty years of age, and was to be given the honour of being my personal guard, as his mother was my father's guard. He had also proved himself worthy in his examinations, and his physical abilities.”

Bilbo settled back against the wall as Thorin started to speak. His voice was a low, rumbling tone – so quiet Bilbo doubted anyone else could hear them. Their shoulders rested against each other, and Thorin had slumped down a little, their heads level.

“Which meant, naturally, he was trying to appear very mature throughout the entire day.”

There was a smile in Thorin's voice. It suited him, and smoothed his gravelly rasp into sounding like sun-baked sandstone.

“Naturally,” Bilbo chuckled, pulling his pipe from his lips. He quietly tapped out the ash and cinders into an empty mug, cleaning the bowl with a handful of hay stalks.

“And he insisted on following me around to protect me, despite not yet being appointed as Prince's Guard. Admirable, but at the time, enraging. I was much more interested in showing my cousin Erebor – specifically the nooks and crannies he wouldn't see on his official tours, and I had plied Dís with bribes to keep father and mother off our trails, in return for taking Frerin with me. He was a very small dwarrow, and was going through a phase where he insisted on wearing as much of mother's jewellery as he could, despite barely being able to walk under the weight of it.”

Bilbo breathed out another laugh, repacking his pipe with the tobacco and striking a match, puffing until the weed caught alight.

“I wanted to show Dáin the corridor full of sweet vendors from the Orocarni Mountains. He was a ferocious devourer of all things sweet, and I'd overheard he wasn't to be shown them for fear he'd be over-plied with their wares. At the time I thought this terribly unfair, and resolved to show him,” Thorin chuckled.

He lapsed into silence as he refilled his own pipe and yawned, eyes closing for a moment.

Fíli and Kíli had stopped their joke, Óin's hair now a veritable nest of hay, and the two young dwarves had curled up on their blankets and quickly fallen asleep. Only Dwalin and Ori remained awake.

Bilbo watched idly as Dwalin pointed to something in Ori's journal and nodded his head.

“I armed myself with a little purse of coin,” continued Thorin, their shoulders pressed together, “And convinced Dís to distract Dwalin. Then--.”

“--Wait,” Bilbo laughed, turning his head to look at Thorin, “what did she do to distract him?”

Thorin crooked a wry smile.

“I believe it included some very convincing tears, and a story about a lost necklace she had to have for his feast that night. He fell for it, and she kept him away long enough for me to slip out of the Royal Chambers, Frerin on one side, and Dáin on the other. I led them through the servants’ passages, away from the royal corridors. The celebrations were being prepared for, and we managed to slip out into the markets without being caught. I spent a small fortune on sweets for Dáin and Frerin without thinking for a moment how much such little stomachs could actually hold.”

Bilbo's lips parted before he snapped his jaw shut and grinned, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Oh, dear.”

“Quite,” Thorin agreed. The embers from his pipe slanted a warm glow over his features, his eyes seeming to twinkle with some old mischief. “I carried them both back to the Royal Chambers, as they were too tired and stuffed to walk. By the time we returned Dwalin had noticed our absence, but I simply told him I'd taken the lads around Erebor, and to let it be. It was drawing close to his ceremony, and I think he was too rattled to push the issue – he was to accept the honour in front of the kingdom, you see. All went well until it was time for him to pledge his allegiance to me, as my guard.”

Thorin paused to take another deep pull of smoke, and it took everything in Bilbo not to wriggle and elbow him to continue the tale. He'd never pegged Thorin as the story-telling sort, the dwarf always so taciturn and stern, but now... now there was merriment in his eyes. While Bilbo had seen it directed at others for brief, passing seconds, it had never been aimed at him before.

“Dwalin, wearing his ceremonial armour, went to one knee before me. Frerin was to my left, Dís to my right, behind me my mother and father, and behind Dwalin his own. He opened his mouth to begin his vow, and Frerin lost his control, emptying his stomach between us.”

“Oh...!” Bilbo gasped, eyebrows shooting up as he tried to contain his laughter. Thorin's smile spread wider over his face, lifting his cheeks and eyebrows.

“This was followed by Dáin's own contribution, all over his and his father's shoes.”

Bilbo laughed, stifling it behind his palm as Thorin hid his own chuckle against the stem of his pipe. Dwalin, as if sensing he was being talked about, glanced up at them. Bilbo clamped his jaw shut, choking on his laughter. From the tremor of Thorin's body against his, Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion the dwarf was doing exactly the same. Finally Dwalin turned back to Ori, and they both exhaled.

“What happened then?” asked Bilbo, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.

“There was chaos. Frerin and Dáin were escorted away, and their legacy had to be quickly cleaned before Dwalin could resume the ceremony. My father said nothing at the time, but that night I was given a very stern lecture. I felt rather guilty about it until I was woken the next morning by Frerin and Dáin, both solemnly inquiring as to when we'd be visiting the sweet stalls again.”

With a soft, satisfied laugh Bilbo tapped the burnt ends from his pipe.

“Children will be children, no matter what,” he smiled, slipping his pipe into his pocket and sighing out, “I did a similar thing myself, you know, at my grandfather's party. Except I had been at the ale, as well as the cakes.”

He started to tell the story, barely noticing the increasing weight against his side as he gestured with his other hand. Bilbo kept his voice soft, but it wasn't until he reached the crux of the story and Thorin - who had been humming out little noises of affirmation - kept silent, that he looked to his companion.

He was fast asleep, head practically on Bilbo's shoulder and pipe lax between his strong fingers. The lines in his skin had smoothed, and his slow, rumbling breaths were even.

“Oh,” Bilbo murmured, his throat tightening. “Well. How rude. I'll let you off this time, since you're still recovering. But just you try to fall asleep on me mid-story again, Mr. Oakenshield, and I shall be very cross indeed,” he grumbled. Thorin didn't reply.

Bilbo crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. Dwalin and Ori had gone to their beds, and Beorn's house was quiet and dark. He couldn't move, lest he disturb Thorin, and for the time being the position wasn't uncomfortable. And when Thorin stirred, or woke, he'd move.

But until then, he'd wait.

 

 

 

*

 _T.A 2941_  
_May 22nd_

 

 

When Bilbo woke the next morning, it was to the sound of Fíli and Kíli shrieking, and the sight of Óin standing over them, two empty buckets in his hands, his hair devoid of all straw, and a veritable puddle around the howling princes.

The space beside him was empty, but the hay held a lingering warmth, and in Thorin's place there sat a mug of sweet, milky tea, a loaf of soft white bread, a pot of honey, a plate of butter, and a knife.

Bilbo bit back a smile and tucked in.

**Author's Note:**

> [Someone reported my fics on Ao3 - This is why!](http://yubiwamonogatari.tumblr.com/post/148307664796/so-someone-reported-me-on-ao3)
> 
> This little pre-fic was commissioned once again by the lovely Mim, who actually commissioned a whopping 10k of [Azhâr](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4063402/chapters/9145204) side fic! These will be posted as appropriate chapters come out, to further compliment the story, and would otherwise not have been written. So, thank you, Mim, for making this possible!
> 
> You can read Azhâr [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4063402/chapters/9145204)  
> You can find me [on Tumblr!](http://yubiwamonogatari.tumblr.com)


End file.
